A Tale from Dark Souls
by dib07
Summary: Big Hat Logan leaves Griggs in order to fulfil the destiny that will later destroy him, and darkness follows close behind. What was contained within the Archives was better left unread, but read it Logan did despite the warnings he so foolishly ignored. If only he had listened. Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Souls. This is purely fan based. This story was written in memory of Logan.


**A Tale from Dark Souls**

**By Dib07**

"Don't go and die over nothing." – Big Hat Logan

xxxx

It was wrong of Griggs to try and follow him. Thrice he had tried to outwit and outrun that spook, but somewhere along the way the young sorcerer had managed to find him time and again. Just a few days ago before he had unknowingly undertaken his last journey, he had confronted Griggs and told him as firmly as he could not to follow him. "It's for your own safety," he had muttered, not caring any more if his orders came out rather abrasive. He was only thinking of Grigg's safety after all – that was the honest, simple truth of it and why he had blurted it out before the surprised man. It wasn't an easy existence for those who were Undead, if it could even be called an existence, which it was, in a way (who really knew? Except that they never existed with neighbouring demons reeking of Izalith's pit). But there was still pain – or memory of pain in this place. He had his weak leg as proof for that. As for Griggs, he could still go hollow, and risk losing his sanity and self. If this happened, who knew what might become of him? And he had to accept the fact that he rather admired Griggs, even if the young spook had been the cause of his banishment at the school of Vinheim.

Griggs had given him a sulky look that day, but his eyes had glistened with tears. It was funny how the Undead could still feel as though alive. As though they still breathed. And yes, they did love. Even now in this cesspool of stagnation and the wanderings of the damned. Griggs loved him, and that was why Logan had to go on alone. Past Sen's Fortress, that ugly old battalion that kept the worst offenders off of Anor Londo's doorstep, and then on, on to the Duke's Archives where all the knowledge in the vast limbo of eternity would keep him preoccupied.

Left alone long enough, and he hoped Griggs would leave Lordran: birthplace of Lord Gywn, and go somewhere. Somewhere safer.

But where was safety, truly? Even the very gods who once feared no one had long ago fled Anor Londo, leaving behind their city and casting illusions upon it to keep it as it once was – including a sun to warm the buildings that would otherwise have been blanketed in primordial darkness. Shroud things in lies. Cover all in illusion. That was what the gods did now. It was all a very sad façade.

How did Ornstein stand it?

Logan reached up using a leather stool and his thin fingers brushed the velvety spine of an old, weathered tome. _No, that wasn't the one. Try the next shelf. _He nearly muttered it aloud. He had started muttering to himself a heck of a lot lately. He had never done so before, but now it seemed perfectly all right. Sometimes he wished he had brought Griggs along, if only for the company. He liked the boy, but he had wanted to protect him moreso. Then again, hadn't he just seen Griggs wander past the entrance to the Regal Archives with a mottled old book clutched jealously in his hands? The crystal watchmen liked to read sometimes – it could have been one of them.

Then there was that mimic, breathing steadily inside its casket of a chest. Sometimes Logan got a whiff of its stained breath and he had to move away from the chamber. The reek filled him with raw grief and vile images.

Oh, and Sen's Fortress had been fun. For some reason the manserpent (he classed them all as demons) did not kill him. Its feral eyes, all heinous and ruby choked, locked onto his grey ones and proceeded to grab him. Logan could do nothing at the time except miserably back away. Sen's Fortress had been an overwhelming maze, and though he had nearly gotten through, exhaustion had worn him out. It was funny how an Undead who didn't need to eat, or to sleep or to function at all, still managed to become ill or tired. It confounded logic, but who really needed such principles when one was…undead and marked?

The manserpent had locked him away in a prison cell without a word or a hiss – almost as if it had been instructed to do so. And Logan lay in his cell for a time, contemplating, growing feasibly bored, and wishing to be somewhere other than here. The swishing of the torturous blades close by and the occasional growl of some unimaginable demon below started to gnaw on his tolerance. He slept little.

Logan reached up and clutched a second book. His weak leg almost gave way, so he quickly stepped down and sat back with his accumulated pile of knowledge.

The silence was deafening sometimes in this place.

He flicked through pages impatiently. How was it that Seath had come to read such treasured volumes anyhow when the albino dragon was blind? How was it so? How? Did he use archaic magic to guide him through each page, or did the crystals whisper their majesty to him every waking moment? The mages here did not like to talk or read. They fidgeted amongst themselves, and surveyed the aisles of bookcases listlessly as if expecting intrusion.

As Logan tried to seek the words written on yellowed pages as crisp and as fragile as sugared icing, Grigg's last words haunted him still, and they rattled through his head: "I will come for you!" The young man had promised feverishly, his face flushed and his eyes as hard as steel. "I am not as helpless as you seem to believe! Wasn't it my magic, my methods that enabled the sorcerers at the Dragon School to secretly collect information on Anor Londo and other lands in Lordran? Was it not me that painted you the way? You can _not _leave me_ here_!"

Was it worth the sacrifice? Logan didn't know anymore. What was sacrifice after all, what was anything? He used to know.

His mind climbed to a terrible realization, a great truth, and then he selfishly crushed it out as he continued reading. Yes, this had to be the right book. He rose stiffly, grabbed his catalyst and went to relight another candle. He had gone through many candles as he tried to read. He could have used magic, but he loved candles. They gave off warmth, warmth and light that reminded him of the Flame. Of the light that used to spill across Lordran in all its regal splendour. Anor Londo's steps used to be as warm as a furnace. Now it was cold and dark.

He resettled himself down and continued. He had felt horrible pain at Seath's anguish. That dragon had wanted his equal heritage to immortality: and had gone to great lengths to obtain it. But the primordial crystal had unsettled the great albino after learning from it all that he could, and so he had locked himself away in his Archives: a prisoner of his own wisdom. But was he jealously guarding what he had found – or was he hiding _from_ it?

Logan at first refused to learn what Seath had learned. But he craved knowledge. Knowledge was his exit from boredom and the madness of being Undead. It was his liberation, his goal, his sanction. He couldn't help himself. Besides, all these valued books were going to waste, and without Seath, who would read and treasure them? It had to be him. It had to be Big Hat.

He wished that he had never visited the Abyss however. It had been a dreadful, unforgiving mistake. And he accepted that. After all, he had walked into his own trap. You see, he valued and admired Oolacile. They had beautiful magic: special powers that they had unlocked and used to heal the hurt of any affliction. They had also learned how to soothe madness, and keep the darkness in men's hearts from growing. They were a gentle people, guided by Dusk when the town had been rich in life. Even the governors at Vinheim had grown jealous of their illusionary sorcery, and had sent spooks such as Griggs to investigate and steal such techniques. So Logan, full of purposeful energies and with all the time to do so, had gone to Oolacile to see what Griggs had seen. But again his avarice for knowledge had been his downfall. Oolacile, like many places left, had gone steeply into madness. At first he didn't know why or how. The forest remained more or less intact, if not a little tarnished, but the town that was once so promising: so bright, had started to descend into the abyss like all things. Its fate was like that of New Londo. But it was not wraiths that swamped the town but the villagers, who ate each other's limb and tried to claw off their hideous, iron-tight heads. Stupidly curious for all the wrong reasons, Big Hat went down as cautiously as he could afford without being seen, and he had Griggs to thank for this, for he used his Hush techniques learned from Oolacile in times when things had been brighter. But darkness clung – great inky stains of abyss poison lurched out from a great fathomless hole, a hole dear Artorias had been unable to defend against. And now Princess Dusk was gone, and madness reigned. Drawing all life near, and sucking out badness in return.

Logan got too close to the borders of the Abyss. And he deserved his punishment. Being at the border had obviously been too much, and he didn't come out feeling the same. It caused the limp in his right leg and some hollowing inside of him. No magical cure could either pinpoint or alleviate it. The fetid blackness had done something, and he wished he knew what it was.

What was this place really? He had strived to know, then got lost along the way. He saw the Chosen Undead several times, but then all that became mist and suspended dreams. Had he been alive once, or had he died?

"Griggs," he began, turning decrepitly to the man standing before him, half cloaked in shadow, "The secret to all life, all immortality and all of death is within this crystal, only it isn't. Not part of it, only the soul is. Seath saw the truth, and he hid himself from it I can only assume. Even the Gods would go insane at what he saw." He looked up when he attained no answer from the man. What he saw was not Griggs at all but the stepladder he used to reach the tallest section of archives. His heart sank in his disappointment. Griggs was not here, nor ever was.

When he first came to the Duke's Archives he was quickly seized upon by more manserpents. What was it with these monstrous snakes? Why did they wish to house him in a cell? Did they scent his magic, and fear him, yet see him as no threat? Or was Seath teaching Logan a lesson for coming here, for he had not learned his lesson in Sen's Fortress after all. Did Seath not want him here? It seemed so. For he had been dumped in a cell to watch the seething, gloating mass of blue tentacles. The poor human maidens had been butchered into monsters with ugly teeth and bloated heads. They heard and scented, but had no eyes to see. Seath had used them in his many experiments, and those that survived dribbled up and down his corridors like wailing banshees. They used to be women once, perhaps those taken by crystal golems from Oolacile or Darkroot. But it mattered not now. They were here, they had been crumpled into abominations, and their wet tentacles tried to seek him out through the thin bars. When Logan did manage to find sleep, he dreamed of being raped by them.

When he came to the Duke's Archives for the second time after having been blissfully released by Seath (or the Chosen Undead, true memories were hard to come by these days), the crystal watchmen gave them a leery eye but did not move to accost him. Logan was not the Chosen Undead of whom Seath was patiently waiting for, so Logan was allowed to continue his studies uninterrupted. So he arranged a few tables and chairs and dumped piles of books on top, opening them out and leaving them when he went to search for others. The smell of old leather covers and binding deeply moved him. He loved this place and never wanted to leave. At least, not yet.

_The truth will kill me someday. _He thought in some parts despair, some parts relief.

Yes, yes it would.

But at least he had left those writhing blue tentacles behind.

And now here he was in some secret library chamber, too weak to make it back to the tables he had set out. So he sat where he fell, with a book laying open on his lap.

Ghosts frequented this area sometimes. And he was growing weary of them too. They walked by him like memories. The flow of time was distorted in Lordran, that he knew, but he hadn't known it would be quite like this.

He turned another page and the shrieking, jabbering laughter spilling from the lurid tongues of the imprisoned insane in Oolacile made him shiver in remembrance. Nothing remained sane for very long. It spread like a rancid sickness, and nothing held it back. It lurched out of the abyss. Funny really. The abyss was the source of death and madness: Gywn had feared it and what lay within, but the abyss had surely been the core of humanity, and henceforth the dark soul that harboured life?

_Ah Seath, you were one the most loneliest of us all. And the one who was hurting the most. The Four Kings knew what they had done at the last as Kaathe watched on, but you…you were different._

"I'm sorry, dear Griggs. Do not try to come for me. Sen's Fortress will kill you. Seath only had enough mercy for me. He will not spare another Undead again."

Footsteps could be heard coming up along the aisle outside his little warm chamber of books and shadows. It couldn't be, surely? Was it the Chosen Undead, after so long? Did Seath still live? Had he been mercifully vanquished at last: to rest in peace forever, lest his madness stain the Archives that little bit longer?

Ah yes, the Chosen Undead would have need of his spells. He needed all Logan had to give if he was to overcome this evil eating away at the fabric of life and balance. But giving away all that Logan had to give would undoubtedly leave him feeling rather empty inside.

He bent down and massaged his poorly leg. Curse that abyss! Curse Gywn for leaving. Leaving Artorias to die! Leaving Seath to foul himself with his own greed. To abandon Oolacile like that.

And yes, it is him! The oracle! The bane of the wraiths and the shining hope the Gods have been seeking! The Chosen Undead stood over him, just as Logan had hoped.

"Oh there you are," Logan said, his voice coming out much weaker than it had been an hour or two before. "It's been awhile. Or…were you just here? This fascinating place defeats my sense of time…"

xxxxx

"…Chosen Undead… release me…"

xxxxx

Dib07: I apologize for it being so short.


End file.
